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🎼 JRPG Orchestral Meets Regal Western Classical 🎶
Happy weekend everyone! 👑
This week, I finished a piece for a project orchestrated to capture the description above. I loved sprinkling in trills and giving the brass fanfare, but what I am most proud of is the structure of the piece from start to finishÂ
What do you think?
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Roland Marais: Pièces de viole, Deuxième livre: Troisième suite: I. Prélude, Le Logerot
RIP Jessye Norman...
Especially when I first started, I thought of composing as a way of getting beyond the limitations of my own body. For a long time I wanted to be a writer, but in college I was writing these stories and my teacher pointed out, “These people don’t have bodies.” There was no physical description. She said “I don’t know what they look like or what their ethnicity is,” and I realized I wasn’t comfortable with that because I wasn’t comfortable enough with my own body and my own specific cultural background to deal with that explicitly. I didn’t want the stories that I wrote to be Asian American. I mean, the truth is that other people categorize you anyway, no matter what you call it or whether you write in bodies or not, but at the time, writing instrumental music was an easier way of getting outside of myself.  But over the last decade or so I’ve become more interested in the specificity of who I am and what I come from. It’s not that that has to be thematized in every piece, but I shouldn’t have to hide it. I am actually curious about these things and how much they do matter. Making pieces is a way of trying to test that out, to see what actually matters and where things are coming from, because writing is a way of working things out. You don’t always know where you’re going when you start, or I almost always don’t. And you don’t know what you’re going to find. It’s a form of research, of feeling out the world.
Carolyn Chen, composer Â
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Hahn: Études latines: I. Néère
Poème de Charles-Marie-René Leconte de Lisle
II me faut retourner aux anciennes amours:
L’Immortel qui naquit de la Vierge Thébaine,
Et les Jeunes Désirs et leur Mère inhumaine
Me commandent d’aimer toujours.
Blanche comme un beau marbre, avec ses roses joues,
Je brûle pour Néère aux yeux pleins de langueur;
Venus se précipite et consume mon cœur:
Tu ris, ô Néère, et te joues!
Pour appaiser les Dieux et pour finir mes maux,
D’un vin mûri deux ans versez vos coupes pleines;
Et sur l’autel rougi du sang pur des agneaux
Posez l’encens et les verveines.
Löwe: Liederkreise: Die Lotosblume, Op. 9-I/1
Die Lotosblume ängstigt Sich vor der Sonne Pracht, Und mit gesenktem Haupte Erwartet sie träumend die Nacht.
Der Mond, der ist ihr Buhle Er weckt sie mit seinem Licht, Und ihm entschleiert sie freundlich Ihr frommes Blumengesicht.
Sie blüht und glüht und leuchtet Und starret stumm in die Höh’; Sie duftet und weinet und zittert Vor Liebe und Liebesweh.
Heinrich Heine
Hahn: 7 Chanson Grises: No. 5, L’heure exquise
Alma Gluck, 1917
La lune blanche Luit dans les bois; De chaque branche Part une voix Sous la ramée...
Ô bien aimée.
L'étang reflète, Profond miroir, La silhouette Du saule noir Où le vent pleure...
RĂŞvons, c'est l'heure.
Un vaste et tendre Apaisement Semble descendre Du firmament Que l'astre irise...
C'est l'heure exquise.
Paul Verlaine, La Bonne Chanson, 1870
